


you'd better not pout!

by slipsthrufingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, F/M, Secret Santa, everyone has to write at least one festive fic in their life, this one be mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipsthrufingers/pseuds/slipsthrufingers
Summary: Office Christmas means one thing and one thing only: Secret Santa. Five times Brienne Tarth was disappointed by the office Secret Santa and one time she wasn't.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Renly Baratheon & Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 91
Kudos: 390





	you'd better not pout!

**Author's Note:**

> This was a half-baked idea written very quickly and the fact it makes any sense at all is due to the help of my friends Samirant, Luthien and Nire. Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates and good vibes to everyone else.

**Year 1**

The very first year Brienne worked at the company, she signed up to participate in Secret Santa. She’d only worked there a few months--it was her first job after graduating from university--but she was excited to give back to a workplace she’d so far found rewarding and fulfilling. And when she pulled out Renly Baratheon’s name she moved from _excited_ to _delighted_. Finally this was her chance to show her appreciation to _him_ , too. He’d been the one who’d recruited her, afterall, and then continued to advocate for and mentor her as she got her bearings and settled in.

The budget was $20, which was reasonable enough; you could get something nice and thoughtful with that kind of money. But Brienne didn’t _want_ to get Renly something nice. She wanted to get him something _meaningful_ , something that would let him know just how lucky she was to have met him at the Storm’s End job fair.

She went shopping after work one day, braving the Christmas crowds to search for inspiration. She knew he liked that show about pirates everyone on the internet loved. Brienne had spent a weekend watching the first season after he’d enthusiastically recommended it when they’d gone to lunch together. She could see why he’d liked it; it was a very pretty show, pretty actors, pretty scenery, pretty CGI, but she found it a little lacking in the representation department. The male characters were complex and unique and each had their own fulfilling character arc, but it seemed to her that all the women were relegated to the role of mother or victim. Was it too much to ask for a female character to have a little agency of their own? For them to have a plotline that didn’t revolve around their relationship to the men in their lives? Apparently so.

Still, she could set aside her feelings about the show to find him a funko pop of his favourite character. Surely the comic shop would have one. It was a bit of a pain to get there; she had to take two separate busses and walk a block and a half in a blustering wind, but got there she did, only to find out that they were out of stock of Captain Rose, his sister Margo and basically every character from the show he’d ever spoken positively about. The only toys they had left were the fat king character that died suddenly on the toilet and his vindictive wife, and Brienne was certain he wouldn’t like either of those.

So she was back at square one.

Despite her disappointment she stayed in the store a little longer, perusing the covers of the new release single issues and flicking through a hardcover collection of _The Ghost of Harrenhal_ , a comic her father had loved as a child. But there was already a present wrapped beneath her tree for him and nothing else in the store inspired her. So she left the store, feeling vaguely guilty that she’d spent so much time there without buying anything. Instead she made a note to come back here a little before her father’s birthday to see if the collection was still there.

It was a long, miserable commute home to her apartment. The blustering wind had been exacerbated by icy sleet and the traffic was brought to an almost standstill by drivers paralysed at the thought of driving in such conditions. The bus driver quickly grew frustrated, the jolly santa hat he’d donned doing nothing to temper his foul mood. Brienne sighed and leaned against the glass window, thinking wistfully of the hearty ravioli soup she’d planned for her dinner. It was delicious but it took a good hour or so to prepare. At this rate all she’d have time to make for dinner was a cup-a-soup. The woman next to her coughed wetly, suddenly, and without covering her mouth.

 _Merry Christmas_.

\---

It took her a little while to think of something else after her funko expedition left her with nothing but a miserable winter cold. She suffered through the headache, the chills and hot flushes and the stuffy nose, and went to work anyway. Her father would’ve told her to take a day off to rest, but things were incredibly busy for everyone in the leadup to Christmas, and she didn’t want to be an extra burden on her colleagues. She wrapped a scarf around her neck, dosed herself up on cold and flu medication and wore a face mask to prevent her from passing the lurgy onto anyone else.

It was a miserable day that lasted twice as long as any day really should, and by lunchtime she was regretting her choice to martyr herself for the sake of company productivity. Her head was just as foggy and stuffy as her nose, leaving her feeling genuinely lightheaded. She wanted nothing more than to kip down under a mountain of blankets and not emerge until her body was ready to be awake. 

But that wasn't going to happen. There was too much work to do and she had already committed herself to being here for the day. Never mind that every time her phone rang it made her want to cry because it just meant _another_ thing to do before she could crawl home to bed.

“Brienne,” a voice said from somewhere behind her. 

She turned her head slowly and blinked her eyes open to see Renly standing there, a look of concern on his face.

“You’re not well,” he said, and reached his hand out to feel her forehead. She flinched from his touch, for how cold his hands were and for the fact that his skin was too soft for the likes of her.

“I’m. I’ll. I’m fine,” she said, and then she sneezed, only just barely getting her hands up to cover her mouth and save herself the mortification of spraying him with her germs.

Renly’s eyebrows drew tightly together and she could see him hesitate before he crouched down, squatting back on his haunches so that they were of a height. He moved his hands to her shoulders, gripping them gently. “You’re no good to anyone like this. Not us, not yourself. _Go home_.” It was the kindest and cruellest anyone had ever been to her and it was only because she was already so fragile that the tears she’d done so well to keep a hold on began to trickle down her cheeks.

“I’m _fine_ ,” she whispered, knowing the words were a lie. 

“I’ll cover your calls,” he said. “And I won’t tell anyone else you’ve gone home. I’ll say you had a meeting with a client. No one will be the wiser, but you need to _rest_. Cold compress on your forehead, chicken soup in your tummy, curled up on the couch dozing off in front of silly Christmas movies. That’s what you need.”

Renly was closer than he’d ever been. So close that she could see that his eyes weren’t straight green, as she’d always thought; there was a rim of dark blue around the iris that gave them tantalising depth. He leaned across her, coming closer still, then snatched up her well-used tissue box and plonked it in her lap. Then he stood, pulled her phone towards him and began setting up call-forwarding to his own extension. Brienne didn’t know what to do faced with this kindness. He’d been the only one to notice how unwell she was, or was the only one to comment, at least. Never had someone expressed this concern for her health in such a way. No one other than her father, at least, and definitely no one at work.

“All right,” she said, more wetly than she would’ve liked. She pulled a tissue from the box and blew her nose, wiped her eyes. “But you’ll call me if there are any problems? I’ll give you my mobile number.”

“Of course I will. But there won’t be.” Then he smiled and she knew it would be okay.

Still, she left her details on a pink post it note, collected her handbag and slipped out of the office without a word from anyone else. 

As soon as she arrived home, she kicked off her shoes, changed out of her uncomfortable pencil skirt and blouse then pulled on her worn flannelette pyjamas and a pair of fluffy socks she’d made herself during her knitting phase. For the rest of the afternoon she did as Renly prescribed. She lay on the couch with her head pillowed on the arm rest as she picked the most recent terrible Christmas movie that Netflix had unleashed upon the masses, _Deck the Halls_. Members of a raucous fraternity house were visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future, and learned the true meaning of Christmas. She fell asleep sometime after they TPed a soup kitchen feeding the homeless and woke an hour later when she realised someone was knocking at her door.

She shot up, alert, then regretted the quick movement for how dizzy it made her. Nonetheless she stumbled to her door to find a food delivery man on the other side. “Order for Tarth?” he said, holding out a brown paper bag stamped with the delivery company’s logo.

“I didn’t order anything,” she said and frowned. Had she been that doped up on meds that she’d drug-dialled herself a burger or something?

The delivery guy sighed in frustration and turned his phone towards her so she could see the screen. Her address and phone number were there, along with her order of “1 x chicken soup, 1 x bread roll, 1 x can of Coca Cola” from a local restaurant. Curiously, it was in the delivery instructions where it clearly stated the order was for B. Tarth, because it wasn’t her account that had paid for the meal. _R. Baratheon. Paid by Credit Card._

\---

It took Brienne until the weekend before she truly felt better. The headaches were gone and she could move without battling through aches and pains that made her feel geriatric. She finally had her energy back. Enough so that she could make a trip to the local supermarket to get the ingredients she needed. Flour. Sugar. Molasses. Ginger. All the makings for her grandmother’s famous gingerbread recipe. It was a pain to make; the dough had to be chilled multiple times throughout the process. 

Between baking the cookies and decorating them it was a weekend-long process, but she decided it was worth it. Each gingerbread man she made was uniquely decorated. A pink bow-tie on one—the same colour pink tie that Loras had worn to the marketing conference earlier in the year that they had both found so funny. A little manilla folder in another’s hand which she painstakingly labelled “FREY” in icing to commemorate the disasterous account they’d managed together. No two gingerbread men were the same, and each was decorated with some little in-joke she and Renly had shared throughout the year. She even bought a special wicker basket to transport them in so that when he’d finished eating the cookies he would have a more permanent memento to remind him of the gift. She wrapped it all carefully in cellophane and ribbon and got an Uber to work on Monday morning so that they wouldn’t be jostled on public transport.

They didn’t swap gifts until lunch time, giving Brienne just enough time properly peruse the other gifts around the tree. Most seemed to be smaller gifts, though of course they were all wrapped so it was impossible to tell precisely who had brought what for whom. It was only a few hours to wait, but that was plenty enough time for Brienne to agonise and worry that perhaps her gift had been a little too much. Home-baked goodies? All individually decorated?

But she was worrying over nothing. In the end it was a bit of a non-event. Gifts were distributed first and then everyone was to open theirs at the same time. A secretary handed Brienne a hefty little box that rattled a little when it was shaken. The label said “To Brienne, From Santa” in deliberately wonky handwriting, as though someone had written it with their off hand to obscure who the true giver was. Soon enough everyone had their gift and the director stood up and said, “All right lads. On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

It was a flurry of ripping, tearing, paper flying everywhere and squeals of laughter and joy so contagious that Brienne, for a moment, forgot to worry whether Renly would like his gift. She opened her own, picking at the tape sealing each end to peel back the paper. Inside was a silly Christmas mug with Santa on the side saying ‘Ho Ho Ho’. The mug had been filled to the brim with little pre-prepared packets of various flavours of hot chocolate and a small bag of marshmallows. 

It was a perfectly nondescript gift and she was happy enough with it, and Renly too looked happy with his. “Ooh, gingerbread!” He said, taking the pink bow-tied ginger man from the top to immediately bite its head off. “Yummy!” he cried through a mouthful of crumbs. Then he passed the basket to Loras beside him. “Have one Loras, they’re delicious!”

Loras did, and ate the ‘Frey’ ginger man without giving the decoration a second look. “Oh my god, so good. Whoever made these, you _definitely_ need to make us more!”

“Oh you _definitely_ don’t. My love handles are big enough!” Renly scoffed, grabbing the side of his waist with an exaggerated moan.

Brienne smiled. Loras did too. Then he leaned forward and kissed Renly on the cheek, “More cushion for the pushing, lovely.”

Continuing to smile after that was something that, in retrospect, Brienne felt that she should be commended for. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. But she did smile. And she didn’t stop smiling until she’d left the office at the end of the day and was waiting in line with her usual crowd at the bus stop. It was there, standing under the shelter beside a blonde woman talking loudly to someone on her AirPods that she let her face fall. 

She threw the Santa mug away before she got on the bus home.

* * *

**Year 2**

The second year Brienne participated in the company’s Secret Santa she pulled one of the secretaries’ names out of the hat. Pia was one of the nicer ones who never complained about having to transfer a call from her father through, even when it was the third or fourth time that day and personal calls weren’t strictly allowed.

So when she found a cheap oil-diffuser at the Christmas markets near her apartment she picked it up along with a few little sample bottles of various scents so that Pia could try a few and decide which she liked best.

Pia enjoyed the gift and set it up on her desk straight away. The reception area soon filled with the festively pleasant smell of orange and cloves.

Brienne’s present that year was a half-used tube of jock itch cream.

She laughed along with everyone else when it was revealed. What a very funny gag gift! There was always one every year. Hey, remember the time that Swann from accounting gave Jeyne W a box of fresh produce and a tube of lube? They’d _never_ top that one!

She threw _that_ present out before she got in the elevator.

* * *

**Year 3**

Her third Secret Santa was the best yet. Hands down. The budget hadn’t changed. But $20 could go a long way if you were clever about it and her Santa went all out. In the weeks leading up to the main gift exchange they left her little teaser gifts, designed to lift her mood. It started with a little festive chocolate and a note that said it was to “sweeten up her day!”. 

A few days later she found a novelty Santa tree ornament. From the waist up the little Santa had his red suit on as usual, but instead of his red and white pants this santa had little fishnet stockings on. It also came with a note reminding her “Santa has a naughty list too!”, which made Renly laugh when she sent him a picture of it. He’d gone on paternity leave after the Stark merger, had been a stay-at-home-dad for several months by that stage but had recently confessed that he was starting to feel a little claustrophobic, stuck inside with no one but the baby for company, and with Loras working such long hours. So she’d made a concerted effort to send him a message every other day to let him know that someone was thinking about him.

The little gifts kept on turning up. A little miniature bottle of Bailey’s to add to her morning coffee. A pen in her favourite style, the type that the stationery cupboard was always running low on because they were a little more expensive than the simple blue biros they could get in bulk. Each gift was accompanied by a little note and each left her with a smile on her face. By the time the proper gift exchange arrived her excitement was at its peak. Even if the gift was small to make up for the many little gifts she didn’t mind. She just wanted to see if she could figure out who to thank for bringing her that little bit of Christmas cheer for the past few weeks. 

The office gathered around the tree. Pia distributed the gifts around, and as usual they all waited until everyone had theirs before they were to open them. Brienne still wasn’t sure she _liked_ that particular aspect of the exchange, but it was the tradition, so she just went along with it, holding the slightly bulky envelope in her hands patiently until everyone was ready.

Catelyn Stark was the one who counted them down this time, with Renly not around to do the honours. “Three. Two. One. Merry Christmas!” she cried, and everyone, as usual, ripped into their gifts like hyenas to a carcass. Brienne tore open the envelope for once, eager to see who had been her Santa all this time.

But as she read the card, her heart clenched tightly in her chest and tears sprang to her eyes.

“What did you get, Brienne?” Pia asked as she arranged the two bottles of wine she’d received by her feet.

Brienne closed the card before anyone else could read the hurtful words there, making sure, too, that the flyer was still tucked inside. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and forced what she hoped was a believable smile. “Starbucks gift certificate,” she lied.

* * *

**Year 4**

Brienne got the phone call when she was getting ready for work. An odd time for Pia to be calling, but not unheard of. Sometimes Catelyn needed her to to attend a client meeting in her place, and sometimes that happened at the last minute. It was the consequence of being a mother to six unruly children. Things came up. Catelyn handled them. Brienne watched her back, filled in where she could, kept her updated when she couldn’t.

“There was an accident on the freeway,” Pia said, and Brienne could hear the way her voice wobbled down the line. Brienne’s heart was now somewhere behind her navel and beating hard. Too hard. Painfully.

“She’s dead, Brienne. Cat’s dead.”

The Christmas party was cancelled after that, obviously. No one was in the mood to celebrate, nor were they sure who would pay for it if they did. The whole office practically shut down a week earlier than normal. The half that stayed spent their time updating their resumes.

Brienne still came in every day. She broke the news to clients who hadn’t heard and gave the ones who had details about the memorial if they asked. What else was there to do but stay productive until it was time to fly home to Tarth? She could figure out there, with her father’s advice, where she would go next.

Anyway. Secret Santa wasn’t on anybody’s radar that year.

* * *

**Year 5**

“Did you put your name down for—Oh! I’m sorry Miss Tarth,” Podrick said while Brienne was on the phone, interrupting an important call with an important client. He’d only been her assistant for a month or so— she’d only _had_ an assistant for a month or so— and he still hadn’t quite figured out that there were times he could talk to her about whatever he wanted and times where he needed to be quiet.

Thankfully she was on the tail end of the conversation and Podrick had gotten a little better at using his inside voice. Hopefully, if Tarly had heard anything at all, he would assume it was general office background noise and not the steep learning curve of a fresh graduate. She held a single finger up to Pod. _One minute_. He nodded frantically, a clear cringe on his face, and… was he bowing as he walked out? Oh gods, she’d been too hard on the boy, hadn’t she.

Brienne wrapped the call up, promising the client that she’d check on the figures he’d inquired about and send him the information via email by the end of the day. He would grumble about the turnaround time, but he could hardly expect her to work any more quickly. She was only human, after all.

All the clients that they’d taken onboard when the company had merged with Lannister Industries had been a bit like that. Impatient, demanding. But then of course she was dealing with bigger accounts now, five times the size of the biggest ones she’d ever managed with Renly or Catelyn. It was why she’d been assigned an assistant. And a sizeable pay increase. It almost made dealing with men like Randyll Tarly worth it. She could afford to pay for an in-home nurse for her father now; the pamphlets for aged-care facilities were no longer necessary. He hadn’t wanted to leave his—their—home, and now she was in a position to ensure he stayed not only where he’d be happy, but somewhere that he’d be _comfortable_.

She quickly made a note in the Tarly file so that he would be appropriately billed for her time then pressed the intercom button, “I’m free now Pod. What did you need?”

Instead of answering via the same method, the boy—and she really had to stop thinking of him that way, he was 22 after all—came back into the room, all but bouncing on his feet with nerves. “I’m so sorry Miss Tarth. I should’ve seen you were on a call. I’ll do better next time, I promise.”

She raised a hand to quiet him, quite sick of his apologising all the time. She hadn’t got mad at him yet, what made him think she was going to start now? “Just… what did you need, Pod?

“Oh!” His face cracked a smile and without asking he sat down on the couch opposite her desk. “I wanted to know if you’d signed up for the Secret Santa!”

Ah. Visions of disappointing Christmasses past flicked in her mind, settling like a heavy stone in her gut. “I wasn’t going to,” she said, honestly. She’d learned that it wasn’t worth it, that she got too emotionally invested. She couldn’t handle a disappointment like that again. Not so soon after… after everything. With Catelyn. Renly. And she didn’t feel at home here amongst the new Lannister regime. Tywin was too ruthless and Jaime was too reckless. 

But Pod’s face fell. He was so sincere, so genuine. She worried that working for men like Tywin would ruin him over time. She vaguely remembered feeling that same kind of enthusiasm, many, _many_ years previously. So she explained, “I am just so busy, Pod. I wouldn’t have time to find a gift and I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“I could help you with that!” He perked up, looking just like a puppy, eager to please but sure to soil the carpet.

“I wouldn’t feel right getting you to do that kind of thing for me. That’s not your job.”

“But it is! I’m your assistant. I’m here to _assist_ you. I get you your coffee, and lunches. And I’d get your dry cleaning if you needed it! This would just be another errand, and I’d be happy to help.” He was so achingly sincere and eager for her approval that it almost made her want to cry. Had she been neglecting him? She should be mentoring him, not pushing him aside like an unwanted annoyance.

“It wouldn’t be too much?” she said, hesitantly. It still felt like she’d be taking advantage.

“No sir. Er. Ma’am. It wouldn’t, I swear. I just want to see you enjoy yourself! You work so hard and someone told me that you used to really get into the Christmas spirit.”

 _Used to_ , yes. But it was too hard these days. And she couldn’t take another disappointment. But then who was she to disappoint another? She looked at Pod, his bright eyes still full of hope and happiness. What was $20 if it meant keeping his spirits up? It was cheaper than alcohol at any rate. And healthier too.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll sign up.”

The grin that split his face looked almost painful and he was practically vibrating out of his seat with joy. “Oh I’ll do it for you! Don’t sweat it.”

“If you like,” she said, unable to do anything but smile placidly back at him. She made a note to remember to get him a nice gift before they closed for the holidays. He _had_ been a very good assistant to her, and he deserved to be acknowledged. 

Perhaps she could make him some gingerbread cookies. He’d like that.

\---

True to his word, Pod ensured the whole Secret Santa thing this year was not a burden. She’d pulled Addam Marbrand, one of the accountants from the Lannister side of the business who was now primarily working with her team. Not that she’d had much to do with him personally, but he seemed nice enough. Married. Kids. Up for a joke but not at anyone’s expense. The worst she could say about him was that he was particularly friendly with Jaime Lannister, which was hardly anything to write home about. But there was no accounting for taste.

“Who’d you get?” Jaime said to her, appearing at her shoulder as though he’d overheard her _vaguely_ thinking about him. He seemed to have a sixth sense for that, and it was deeply annoying.

She shoved the slip with Addam’s name on it into her pocket. “None of your beeswax, Lannister.”

“You can call me Jaime, you know. We’re both management, after all.” He followed her down the hall and into the breakroom, somehow managing to get in between her and everything she needed to make herself a cup of tea: the kettle, the tap, the mugs, the teabags.

“Fine. None of your beeswax, _Jaime_ ,” she said pointedly, before nodding at him to move out of her way. But he didn’t.

“Aren’t you going to ask who I got?” he said, and then he grinned in a way that she was sure meant trouble. No one ever grinned like that if they had something _good_ planned, and she’d had far too many bad experiences with Secret Santa for her to want to encourage any shenanigans. Especially not from him.

So she said, “No,” and left the kitchen with her cup of tea.

So she gave Pod her twenty dollars and he found Addam a perfectly nice gift hamper, the kind that the local department store put together specifically to cater to uninspired Secret Santas looking for gifts within their budgets at the last minute. It wasn’t something that _she_ would’ve bought—she preferred gifts that showed she’d spent a bit of time thinking of what her recipient would like best—but that was the hole she’d fallen in year after year after year. She’d overthought the whole game, gotten a bit too invested and had only been disappointed when no one had reciprocated her effort. 

So she smiled. Thanked Pod for making her life so easy. She’d make him a half-batch of the gingerbread cookies one weekend, but would decorate them simply, with plain white icing buttons, eyes and a cheery smile. 

The Lannister Industries Christmas party came and went, bringing with it an unexpectedly generous open bar and leaving most of the office with atrocious hangovers and mysterious blind-spots in their weekend. 

Brienne survived relatively unscathed, having only attended for a few hours, where she had stuck, mostly, to soda water. Jaime had insisted she have _one_ glass of champagne to celebrate surviving the year, and she hadn’t seen a way of declining that wouldn’t cause offence. But the bubbly was lovely, and his company was surprisingly easy to bear, when they weren’t trapped within the walls of the office. He seemed easier, somehow. Lighter. He smiled more openly, and she found herself smiling too. She found herself reconsidering whether she had judged him fairly. It had been impossible not to compare him to Renly and Catelyn, and every time she had found him wanting. He was too flippant when he should be serious, too flighty when he should be decisive. But then again the department hadn’t fallen apart with him there at the head, and he had seen fit to promote her, even when she hadn’t expected or even asked for it.

He held his glass out in toast. “To finally seeing the ass-end of this year.”

She rolled her eyes, but knocked her glass against his and drank. “I hope we don’t have another like it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, and there was something about his tone that made her lower her glass. “There were some bright spots.” 

“Not for me.” She shrugged and fiddled with her champagne flute. It’d been a full year since Catelyn died, eleven months since Lannister Industries had acquired what was left of the company and she’d hardly had a moment to catch her breath.

Brienne expected he would make his excuses and wander off somewhere else to mingle with the rest of the crowd—it would hardly be a Christmas party well spent stuck in smalltalk with _her_ of all people— but he didn’t. “Are you doing anything while the office shuts down?” Jaime asked instead.

“Visiting with my father,” she replied, feeling suddenly, strangely, a little fragile. 

He took a sip of his drink. “Back on Tarth?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Is he doing better then?” he asked, taking her by surprise. She hadn’t realised anyone other than Pod was aware of her father’s health troubles. She certainly hadn’t told _Jaime Lannister_ of all people. Had Pod been sharing personal details around the water cooler? Did they even _have_ a water cooler? Her worry must have shown on her face, because he looked suddenly apologetic. He leaned in closer and dropped his voice a little lower, giving them some privacy in the crowded, noisy room. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

“He’s surviving,” she said eventually, hating the stiffness in her voice. But better a stilted tone than tears at a Christmas party. She wouldn’t be that person again, and certainly not with _him_.

“You were upset one day. Pod said he’d transferred a call through to you from the hospital and the way you were later that day had him worried. He came and spoke to me about it in private. Said he thought you might need a day or two to go home but that you’d be too proud to ask.”

Brienne remembered that day all too well, even though it was, oh, easily three months back. He’d been admitted for the second time in a week and had been talking about refusing treatment. Thankfully she’d managed to convince him later that day to accept the treatment the doctors suggested, but there had been an hour or two there, at the office, where yes… she’d been rather worried.

“Oh.”

“You know you can, right?” he said, looking uncharacteristically anxious. “You can ask. We can cover you if you need to go home. You have family leave entitlements, and I can authorise discretionary leave for whatever I like. Not a problem.”

“I know,” she said, and then swallowed, mouth dry. She lifted her drink to her lips, but found she’d finished the last of her glass without realising. She set it down on the table. “I know. But he’s all right now. Getting better every day.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled, and her chest tightened. She felt a little lightheaded. But she’d only had the one glass of champagne. He tilted his empty glass at hers. “Would you like another?”

“Oh. No.I have to go,” she said, taking the opportunity to leave while she could. “I’m meeting an old friend from university for brunch tomorrow morning.” It wasn’t strictly a lie, but it wasn’t really the truth. Margaery would’ve been happy to have her cancel their plans if it meant that Brienne had spent the night enjoying herself. Their plans were hardly set in stone.

But Jaime took her excuse at face value. “All right,” he said, then grasped her wrist in a gentle squeeze. Her skin where he touched it tingled lightly. “Have a good weekend, Brienne. I’ll see you Monday. Have you found a present for your Secret Santa?”

“I’ve got Pod on it.” She pulled her hand away and settled her handbag across her shoulders.

“You lucked out with him, you know that right?” Jaime’s green eyes twinkled a little.

“He is a good boy.” She smiled and left the venue feeling, strangely, a little lighter than she had at the beginning of the evening. 

Perhaps she _would_ make a full-sized batch of cookies.

\---

The Secret Santa exchange was run a little differently under Jaime’s supervision. Each recipient opened their gifts one at a time, though the giver still remained anonymous. It made the process feel more collegial, rather than a materialistic free-for-all that the previous incarnation had been.

Addam was one of the first to open his present and upon seeing the Christmas hamper, filled with all sorts of baked goodies, he bemoaned his gluten-free diet. “But my wife will love looking after this all for me, _”_ he added with a cheerful wink to the gathered crowd. She felt a little guilty, and Pod looked positively stricken at his oversight, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it. And Addam truly didn’t seem disappointed, so Brienne decided to let things lie and take his reaction at face value.

It was more intimate, taking things more slowly and it seemed that most people ended up with gifts that seemed thoughtful and personal enough that every recipient was happy. Pod received a comic book adaptation of that Pirate show that had been so popular a few years back and seemed delighted at the chance to read it. She’d give him the gingerbread men later, when they had a little time just to themselves. She wanted to make sure she had the time to properly thank him for his work this year, to let him know how much she appreciated his help.

Brienne was one of the last to open her present. It was one of the smaller gifts underneath the tree, about the size of a deck of cards, so it had gone unnoticed while the larger, bulkier presents had been distributed. It had been wrapped in the same festive paper Pod had wrapped Addam’s hamper with, though the handwriting on the label wasn’t his distinctive blocky print.

Inside the wrapping was a velvet gift box, and inside _that_ was a necklace. At the end of a simple-enough silver chain was a delicately rendered replica of _Oathkeeper_ in platinum, gold and little red jewels. They couldn’t be _rubies_ , though. The budget was $20. Even if her Santa had found the thing on sale, they’d definitely spent more than they should. 

“Oh this is lovely!” she said, knowing full-well that she had to say _something_ and pulled it out of the box to hold up to show everyone. The charm was about the length of her finger but the chain was long enough that were she to put it on the sword would sit low on her chest.

“That’s a cool little sword,” Pia said. “Fits with your aesthetic, Brienne.”

“That looks like Oathkeeper,” Jaime said from beside her, reaching out to touch the filigree lion design on the pommel.

Brienne nodded. “I think it is.”

“Cool,” Jaime said, dropping the sword back into her palm before turning back to the tree and picking up the next present.

The necklace sat heavy around her neck for the rest of the day, weighty and warm but no matter how long she stared at it, she still had no idea who bought it for her.

* * *

**Year 6**

The year Brienne pulled Jaime Lannister’s name from the hat for Secret Santa was the year she decided it would be the last time she participated. It was her gut reaction the moment she read his name on the little slip of paper; she should never do it again. The whole thing was a ridiculous tradition, and it had only ever left her feeling at best, uneasy, and at worst… well. And pulling _his_ name! That was a recipe for anxiety. He was her _boss_. What could she possibly get _him_ , when he’d…

When he’d become a rather close friend, all things considered. 

Because he didn’t _want_ for anything. If he wanted something, he bought it for himself. There had been a phase back in April when he’d been mildly obsessed with drones, and so instead of getting a cheap little thing to decide whether or not he _liked_ drone flying, he’d bought the top-of-the-line model. It _had_ resulted in a nice video of everyone on their team-building summer picnic, but still. It wasn’t like she could get him drone.

He didn’t like reading—actually he’d admitted to her he’d struggled with dyslexia since he was a child—so she couldn’t get him a book. Contrary to her initial opinion of him, of an overgrown excitable child, he didn’t really enjoy sweets. Anytime a client gave him a box of chocolates as a thank you for a job well done, he left the box with the secretaries instead of taking them home.

It was more agonising, by far, than drawing Renly’s name had ever been. Brienne had declined Pod’s offer to do her Secret Santa shopping like he’d done the previous year because Jaime certainly wouldn’t be as gracious about a dietary oversight like Addam had been, or whatever equivalent mistake Pod might make in his well-meant enthusiasm. 

The closer it got to the gift exchange ceremony, the more anxious she became. The absolute _worst_ thing she could get him would be nothing at all, and it was looking more and more likely that was what he’d end up with. And that just couldn’t happen. She did know he deserved better than that. He was a kind man, silly at times, certainly, but someone that she had grown to rely on. And she thought that he’d grown to rely on her in turn. When he’d first sought her advice on how to move forward with a client, she’d been perplexed, but it happened so often now that it was just another part of her week. It hadn’t been like that with Renly, or with Catelyn either. She liked knowing that she was valued.

Finally, it was the day before the gift exchange as she was still empty handed she decided she would take the bull by the horns. The office had emptied out—even Pod had gone home early—and it was just her and Jaime left to close up, as it often was.

“Have you got a minute?” she said, knocking on the door frame to get his attention.

He looked up, smiled, and took off his glasses. “For you, you can have ten.”

She came in and sat down in the chair opposite him, as she’d done so many times this year. “I have a problem,” she said.

“What’s wrong? Is it your father?” Immediately he looked concerned, the smile disappearing from his face. He sat up a little straighter in his chair and it made her heart clench. How had it taken her so long to see how sincere he was?

“No no, nothing like that,” she said, shaking her head and offering him a smile of her own, hoping that it would ease his mind a little. The last thing she wanted was to cause him undue stress. “I’m not sure what to get my secret santa. I thought you might have some good ideas.”

He looked relieved, which eased her a little until he asked the next, obvious question. “Well who did you get?” 

“You.”

“Oh,” he said. Nodded. Then he leaned back in his chair, as though forcing himself to relax. It was a strange move for him; he usually moved closer to her throughout their conversations, like metal filings to a magnet. A moth to a flame.

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I don’t want to get you anything you won’t like or want. But I haven’t been able to find anything that would suit you and I don’t want to disappoint you—“

“Why would I be disappointed?” he said, cutting her off before she could truly begin to ramble.

“Every time I’ve participated in Secret Santa it’s been disappointing.”

A queer expression flicked across his face, one she couldn’t quite identify, before his features settled into a look of curiosity. So she explained, “I got half a tube of jock-itch cream one year, and that wasn’t even the worst one.”

“Jock-itch cream? Really?” He said, letting out a laugh of disgust, dismay. Brienne smiled back at him. In retrospect it _was_ a little funny, even if it hadn’t felt that way at the time. “What was the worst?”

The flyer came to mind. That one she would _never_ find funny. She’d thrown it away the day she’d received it, but the name and address of the local plastic surgeon would be seared into her memory for many years to come. Her throat caught and she shook her head, in answer to his question and to fend off the tears. She refused to cry about that any more. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, “I just don’t want this Christmas to be disappointing to you like it has been for me.”

“But you got a nice gift last year, right? That Oathkeeper necklace?”

“Well someone clearly went over budget to get that one and it made me feel awful because I phoned in my gift and let Pod buy it for me.” The guilt was still there, and if she was honest with herself it was most of the reason why she’d had such difficulty figuring out what to get Jaime. “You’re a hard man to buy for,” she confessed.

“I’m not. Really,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d like anything you got me, I promise.”

“That’s what people say when they’re too afraid to ask for what they really want,” she said. “Just tell me. I’ll do my best, and I promise I won’t judge. I want to make sure you enjoy your Christmas this year.”

There was a moment of silence between them as they looked at one another. Neither breaking eye contact.

“Then go out with me,” he said, all but blurting it out. To say it took her by surprise would be an understatement.

“Go out with… you?” It felt like her brain wasn’t working properly. Was she having a stroke? Surely he didn’t want to go out with _her_ of all people. Not when he was him and she was her. It didn’t make sense.

“Yes. Put the twenty towards some drinks, or a coffee at that little place you like, the one with all the plants hanging from the ceiling. Or we could go see a movie, or play a round of mini golf?” He was rambling now, and she shook her head in confusion. Surely her heart was beating its way out of her chest.

“I don’t understand.”

“I like you.” It was so simple, and he seemed so sincere and even looked a little scared, that she found herself believing it against her better judgement. He took a deep, steadying breath in, and then said, more calmly this time. “I’d like to spend more time with you. See if we could make it work. No pressure, no expectations. I promise no matter what came of it, it wouldn’t change our working relationship. Though I doubt you could be anything but professional if you _tried_.”

“And… and that’s what you want for Christmas, is it? A date with me?”

“Yes.” He blushed. He _blushed_. “But only if you’d want it too.”

If she wanted it too. Did she want it? She considered it, and found that despite her shock, the answer was already there. She was certain of it.

“All right,” she said. “We can go out.”

Jaime smiled, a wide, happy grin. He checked his watch, then stood to fetch his jacket. “If we leave now we could still make happy hour at The Maiden and Bear.”

“Now? You want to go now?” Would he ever stop surprising her?

“And give you a chance to change your mind?” He laughed, then shooed her out of his office with a wave. “Go get your purse and jacket. I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

So she did.

* * *

**Year 7**

The first little gift was left on Brienne’s desk. A box of her favourite chocolates. No tag, no label. Just a pretty red bow tied inexpertly around the packet. She shared them with Pod as they went over her itinerary for the rest of the week.

A few days later the second gift arrived: a full bottle of shiraz gin from a local distillery she and Jaime had visited a few months back. Around the neck was a little recipe booklet for festive gin cocktails.

“What are you up to?” she asked him later that night, but he feigned ignorance and passed her a bowl of popcorn.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, pressed play on the silly romantic Christmas movie they’d picked to watch that night and refused to acknowledge anything but the movie for the rest of the night.

The third, fourth and fifth gifts were part of a set. A set of christmas themed pyjamas, some fluffy santa-elf slippers and a bright-red teddy and knickers that had to hide in her desk drawer before Pod came in, saw it and asked about it. “Do you _want_ us to be reported to HR?” she asked him that night, before she pressed him back against the pillows and thanked him for the gifts he _still_ insisted he had nothing to do with.

The sixth gift came via Pod. “You’re going to be late for your meeting,” he said to her one Thursday afternoon, pushing her into the elevator with nothing but an address in her hands. “Go!”

She wished _all_ her urgent meetings were full-body massages at local high-end day spas.

The seventh present was underneath the tree on Christmas morning. It was small. Jaime smiled, took it from her hands, then got down on one knee.

It would be hard to top _this_ Secret Santa next year. But she didn’t mind. She’d already got everything she wished for.


End file.
